From all spheres they come
Streaming on the wide wings of dawn
A disparate troupe, swaying to the thrum
Waltzing, with the fervour of youth
Burnished beacons, astride a myriad mounds
Leaping, from crown to crown
In steady swing, two-step then bounds
A strut, a caper and jig
Back and forth, like far flung threads
Foil, the curb, of clingy chains
Set apart, in stabile stance, few dreads
The howl, which ails the watch
Aflame, they sway in pelting spate
Embracing Elysium’s restful roost
Fluttering, flickering, still they seethe
To kindle the wilderness of dearth.
Lonesome pines,
Whose sublime spines though surely set
Sprint, through the pith, of profane twines
Pulsing arcs, of sundry shades
Fevered, streak across, waning stripped star
Whirling, towards
The chafing weir, of sordid sneers
Intrepid, profound priests
Supernal pharos, of whom are lit
Those who partake of peculiar trip
Incessant torches, triumphal, till the perfection of all kith.
